<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>To Die For by FindingSchmomo</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417570">To Die For</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingSchmomo/pseuds/FindingSchmomo'>FindingSchmomo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>17th Century Pseudo Europe, Angst, Blood, Dark, Dark Humor, Death, Disgraced Doctor!Oikawa, Dissection, Funeral Home Director!Matsukawa, Grave Robbers, Historical Inaccuracy, Humor, M/M, Macabre, Medical Student!Yahaba, Mostly just the aesthetic, Orphan!Kyoutani, Priest!Iwaizumi, Priest!Ushijima, Rating May Change, buckle up buds, this story is for fun, we're not going for accuracy here, who knows where it will go</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:42:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingSchmomo/pseuds/FindingSchmomo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, Hanamaki is between jobs and Matsukawa has one to offer, but it may just be more than he's every bargained for. </p><p>----</p><p>A historically inaccurate grave robbing AU</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Die For</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>blame twitter</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Hanamaki bites his lip, holding the frayed piece of paper in his hand. He shields it from the rain as best he can, but the ink is already beginning to run. He curses, quickening his pace through the filthy streets as the mud gives way underneath him.</p><p class="p1">It doesn't matter that the words are now illegible. He had repeated the address over and over again in his head. 23 Kings Street. 23 Kings Street, just off Blue Castle Road. But it’s so dark with the storm clouds beating down overhead it's hard to read the scrawled out street signs. He stutters to a halt when the church bell bellows. The town church must be nearby for the noise to shake the ground he stands on. Or maybe it's just him who's shaking.</p><p class="p1">The rain doesn’t stop its downpour, and he curses when he slips. His hands come out to shield him but it doesn't matter. His torn pants earn another layer of what he prays is mud. But God, who knows at this point. He can't think about it. </p><p class="p1">He gets back up and keeps running, turning down onto Kings Street, a dinky little road easily missed. Everything seems to be falling apart. Most of the buildings look abandoned, except for one lone structure. He doesn’t even need to see the number to confirm it’s the place.</p><p class="p1">The sign atop the door clearly states <em>Matsukawa Funeral Services</em>.</p><p class="p1">He’s here.</p><p class="p1">He knocks.</p><p class="p1">There is no answer, and thunder cracks the sky, illuminating the wooden door and rusty number <em>23 </em>dangling from it. He grits his teeth as the thunder rolls through the earth and he pull his thin coat tighter against himself. All it manages to do is soak him further.</p><p class="p1">He knocks again, putting in all the desperation that he has. As if this knock was his salvation.</p><p class="p1">Because it is.</p><p class="p1">The door opens and a startled looking man stands before him.</p><p class="p1">He’s tall, taller than Hanamaki, with a mess of black hair atop his head. He looks surprised, which given the circumstances is understandable. No one expects a stranger to appear on their doorstep in the middle of the night unannounced and covered in grime.</p><p class="p1">Hanamaki offers a forced smile, the kind that squints his eyes. At the same time, he holds out the once piece of paper and places the pulp it has become in the man’s hand.</p><p class="p1">“I’m here for the job,” Hanamaki says easily.</p><p class="p1">The man in the door stares at him. He has the thickest eyebrows Hanamaki has ever seen. He wants to touch them to make sure they are real. The rain howls and he shivers, drawing his coat around him.</p><p class="p1">The man in the doorway throws a look behind his shoulder, mutters a curse that Hanamaki barely hears, before ushering him out of the rain.</p><p class="p1">Hanamaki takes one step, but his strength finally leaves him and instead he faints head first into the man’s broad chest.</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">“Matsun, why did you let him in!?”</p><p class="p1">“What was I supposed to do? He looked to be on deaths door!…No pun intended.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh shut it. I can’t <em>believe</em> this.”</p><p class="p1">“Look, it’s fine. He’s out cold. We’ll be done before he wakes up.”</p><p class="p1">Hanamaki groans, blinking his eyes open. He could tell people were speaking around him, but he couldn’t process the words. At least the room was dim with only a few candles hanging in the corners. He could hear the rain hammering against the windows, making the shingles of the roof rattle above him. He groans again, letting out another bone deep shiver.</p><p class="p1">“<em>Shit</em>.”</p><p class="p1">Hanamaki looks over to see the stranger from the door, with another man, maybe an inch shorter than him. They must have been the ones talking.</p><p class="p1">“Fix this!” the second man hisses, shoving a finger into the first man’s chest. He then takes a dramatic spin, the white coat he’s wearing fluttering as he goes. Hanamaki can’t tell where he ges, only that he just seems to disappear.</p><p class="p1">He blinks, head too heavy to parse through all this new information. He sits up and the first man darts forward to help him. Does he look that bad? Probably. When was the last time he ate? When was the last time he slept?</p><p class="p1">He squeezes his eyes shut and wills the questions away. It doesn’t matter. What matters is here and now. What matters is getting this job. It’s the only path left for him to take. </p><p class="p1">“Hey,” Hanamaki croaks, waving his hand at the stranger. But then he's distracted by his own sleeve. It's black and hemmed, with even stitching along the edge. He sits up even more, looking down to find himself clothed in a dark two piece suit in the latest fashion. It’s stiff like it’s just been pressed. He hasn’t worn anything so nice since…well.</p><p class="p1">He looks up at the stranger.</p><p class="p1">The man gives a sheepish smile, “Sorry, you were soaking wet. I figured if I didn’t get you out of those rags you would freeze to death. But all I had lying around was uh, some spare burial clothing.”</p><p class="p1">Hanamaki stares at him.</p><p class="p1">The man gives an awkward laugh, “Don’t worry. No ones worn them yet. They’re for a client I’m prepping. I’m sure he won't mind you borrowing them for a night.”</p><p class="p1">Hanamaki stares at him.</p><p class="p1">The man seems to falter, “Because he’s…dead.”</p><p class="p1">“I got that,” Hanamaki says, “Sorry, it was a good joke. I know how rough it can be when it doesn’t seem to land. I’m just, uh, gathering my thoughts.”</p><p class="p1">“Take your time,” the stranger says, “But also, I really would like to know who you are and what this is.” He places down the pulpy pile of mush back into Hanamaki's hand.</p><p class="p1">“Your job ad,” Hanamaki explains, “For an assistant? No experience needed, in fact preferred?”</p><p class="p1">The stranger raises a thick eyebrow. How does he get them so thick? “If you could read the ad, you might be overqualified.”</p><p class="p1">Hanamaki bites his lip. Had he given too much away? He doesn’t know what education level he should have, if any at all. “Look, I really need the job. I’ll work as hard as you need. I’ll keep my head down, you don’t have to worry.”</p><p class="p1">The man frowns, seeming to take a moment to chew on Hanamaki’s words. After a long sigh he says, “Can I at least get your name?”</p><p class="p1">“Hanamaki,” Hanamaki says before he can think to lie, “Hanamaki Takahiro.”</p><p class="p1">The stranger runs a hand through his own hair, his hands getting lost in the dark strands. He lets out a rough sigh and mutters what sounds to be something like, <em>Oikawa’s going to kill me.</em></p><p class="p1">Hanamaki leans closer, “Give me a chance? There’s a reason you didn’t leave me out to die.”</p><p class="p1">The stranger huffs, “I don’t need more work. Business is doing fine.”</p><p class="p1">Hanamaki actually laughs at that one, barking it out as if even he is surprised he’s capable of laughing after everything he’s been through. The stranger’s face seems to soften.“How about this,” he offers, “I let you stay the night and we can talk over the job tomorrow and see if you’re the right fit.”</p><p class="p1">“Counter offer,” Hanamaki replies, surprising the man, “You give me the job and I promise to laugh at all your macabre jokes.”</p><p class="p1">It’s the stranger’s turn to laugh, and he too seems surprised by it. He quiets himself down but the grin on his face is impossible to hide. “Who are you, Hanamaki Takahiro?”</p><p class="p1">Hanamaki flashes his own grin, even though he must look ridiculous, pale and skinny in a dead man’s clothes, “I should be asking you the same thing, stranger.”</p><p class="p1">The stranger laughs again and it comes out as smooth as the strawberry jam on toast that Hanamaki used to devour at breakfast. It’s the first time he’s thought of home since it all happened. But home doesn’t exist. Not anymore.</p><p class="p1">“Matsukawa Issei,” the stranger states, offering his hand.</p><p class="p1">Hanamaki takes it. The deal is made. </p><p class="p1">In the silence, the church bell tolls.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading. let me know if you would actually be interested in reading this story or if the twitter hype for my thread was a lie. also follow my twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/findingschmomo">@findingschmomo</a>. </p><p>i have started posting an original fiction story on wattpad. it would mean a lot if you checked it out. <a href="https://www.wattpad.com/920183518-the-ring-chapter-1">find the first chapter here</a> </p><p>comments make me smile</p><p>until next time</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>